Opposite the Box Tree
by LilyBartAndTheOthers
Summary: A kind of crash. Unless it's just a crush on his soul.


She entered the lounge and saw him. She hadn't thought he would break down the rules and come here. Unless it was her own hesitation that she could feel pass along her spine. She had left her place without being sure of anything. And even less if she really wanted to see him. She smiled and closed her eyes. How life can be unexpected, sometimes. Unexpected and decisive.

She took a deep breath and moved forward towards his seat. Her steps muffled by the thick eastern carpets and the crackling of the fireplace. It was too close, too intimate if she didn't want to abdict and go upstairs in some suite; their bodies sliding slowly against the sheets, the moans escaping from her throat under his soft kisses. And the paroxysm of her feelings.

All of a sudden his eyes caught up a pair of high heels standing up next to him. His gaze went up very slowly, looking her ankles, her legs. Her hips. She dragged herself until a small sofa and rested up on it, leaning on her elbow, sipping a martini. He came closer to her lips and took off the cigarette she was holding, his fingertips brushing her skin. Then put it down on the ashtray made of ivory.

I don't care about your drinks but please, don't smoke in front of me.

She raised an eyebrow, amused by the way he kept on going. The words he used to pick and the furtive contact, almost invisible, between their both bodies. She sighed and pouted, defiantly.

Since when do you care about me?

Her genuine smile faded when he locked his eyes on hers and didn't say anything. She sat up correctly and put down the glass, empty. Her mind focused on the papers he was holding silently. She frowned and then, resignated, took out of her purse her glasses and put them on shyly, avoiding his gaze and how surprised he must have been. She didn't like using them, they made her feel old and weak. But still, sometimes they were needed.

Her golden Montblanc slided at the bottom of the pages in a perfect rustle, her name staying engraved under the acceptance articles sounding the end of a reign. She cleared her voice but only leaned backwards, biting her lower lip. She didn't feel that comfortable suddenly, a bit lonely. She ordered a whisky on the rock and began to play with her wedding ring. What was she doing? Why wasn't he saying anything?

She looked a side and stared at his knee, his black Armani suit and the leather of his shoes. She just wanted to brush his leg with her feet. To press her thigh against his own body and let her hand caress his chest, his back. His nape. And as he would tighten the grip on her waist, she would capture his lips in a deep and sensual embrace.

She swallowed back her fantasies as the waiter arrived with her drink. The warmness of the alcohol got enough to bury her burning dreams and she turned towards him. She opened her mouth to speak but found herself in the incapacity of doing it. She gasped, surprised by the reaction of her own mind. She felt how the words were going back to her heart and simply smiled at him. Her blood turned in an icy torrent as she saw him standing up on his feet.

Oh... Are you sure you don't want a drink?

He shook his head, avoiding her upset gaze.

I have to go, Karen.

She didn't reply and let him disappear, drawning the sadness of her eyes in her bewitching drink. She frowned and felt a tear run on her cheek. What was she expecting exactly? She clenched her fists and looked down angrily. She had been so stupid; she didn't mean anything to him. She had always known it. But she had failed and let some hopes take her into a dizzy whirl. A night in the sweetness of his arms wouldn't change their story.

He didn't want it, she had to deal with it. And accept it.

She stood up and leaned against the window, looking blankly at the street and how her life was losing all its meanings. She had just put an end to her marriage with Stanley and could barely see straight in the depths of her confused brain. She didn't blame him for anything, she had enough maturity to take her own decisions and make of her life what she really wanted. To spend a night with him and then draw a line under it. Or at least pretend it was nothing.

Her breath became louder, she was suffocating. She grabbed her coat and let fifty dollars on the oak coffee table. Then rushed outside, filling her lungs with fresh air, closing her eyes firmly. She plunged her face in her scarf but moaned painfully when she noticed that the piece of fabric smelled of him. As if she weren't enough addicted. The snow starting falling on her injured body, covering softly the plants of The Box Tree; the red carpet of the stairs absorbing the snowflakes silently, like her skin, feeding itself with her tears.

She turned her back to the palace and crossed the street. There's a private garden there, waiting desperately for some care. She passed the gate and looked at the trees dying silently under the winter of New York City. How she felt closed to them, a bit too much maybe. Her cellphone rang but she didn't go for it and let the tone slowly vanish. She didn't want to speak, slightly keep on living. The streetlights turned on and it's when she saw him. He was staring at her, sat on a bench, just at the corner of an apple tree.

She made a step backwards, instinctively. He didn't have to know about her feelings, and even less feel guilty. It wasn't his fault if she was nourishing some dreams; some dreams with him. She shook her head as he stood up and walked towards her. She looked around for an escape but the only gate was behind him. She stared at the ground, swallowing back her tears, burying her vanity. She stayed perfectly still when he stopped a few inches away from her. That was exactly the kind of scene she was dreading.

He took her shaking hands and pressed them tightly.

You know we can't do it.

She closed her eyes and nodded silently, stiffling her sobs with difficulty. His fingers brushed her chin and he tilted her head slowly.

Look at me, Karen. Please.

She resisted for a while then abdicted, staring desperately at the ground, avoiding the mere contact with his eyes, her tears glimmering in the pale light of the night. His hand caressed her cheek and came to rest on her nape. She frowned, murmuring weakly.

You're killing me, Will... You're killing me.

She looked at his lips carefully, how they were shaking under the weight of his doubts and the desires of his soul. She brushed them slowly, smiling under the softness of his skin and the reminiscence of the sensation it had left on her own body. A thousand of kisses she was desperately missing. The warmness of his essence in her veins.

I can't do it... I'm sorry...

Taking a deep breath she locked her eyes on his and for the very first time faced his own feelings. She passed a hand on his shoulder and tightened the grip on his body. Why did it feel so right to be next to him? While obviously it was prohibited?

It's okay, Will... It's okay, honey.

But as his fingertip slowly brushed away a single tear running on her cheek, his lips came to caress her lonely skin.

Though my sincerety's getting reason of me.

She closed her eyes and let her glimmering tears join their dreamingly kiss, shivering in his arms, embracing her life.


End file.
